Saying Yes
by Abrae
Summary: An old acquaintance gives Harry the answer he needs.


Bollocks. He's seen me.

I spied him 20 minutes ago standing in the fitness section, flipping through some better-body-through-quidditch magazine. I managed to escape a few aisles over in the hope that he wouldn't notice me, but it would seem the years have done little for my powers of stealth.

I can't remember the last time I saw Marcus - not long after the end of the war, I suppose. I seem to recall a condescending look directed to me at one or another of the endless parade of Ministry celebrations, so it must have been around then. Ever since our days at Hogwarts, he had been under the illusion that I had a schoolboy crush on him, based on what bit of misinformation I'll never know. I can only suppose that he feared the possibility of accidentally spawning a hormone-crazed stalker if he so much as acknowledged my existence, based on how he acted around me. Marcus made a career out of carefully avoiding me, meticulous in his pitying disdain. His eyes, when they met mine, never failed to register and reflect my general unkemptness: everything from my unmanageable hair, to my oversized clothes, to my too-short legs was thrown back at me in his gaze, and I was always made to understand the gaping social chasm that separated us.

The joke, of course, was that I could have given a damn; I had much bigger fish to fry and, if anything, it was curiously pleasant to be singled out for such blatant disinterest at a time when the whole world seemed to want a piece of me. Even so, every arrogant look, every patronizing glance grated.

Oddly enough, though, that's not the look in his eyes as he approaches me now. Sitting in a comfortable chair against the wall, I try to hide behind my book - unfortunately titled _Lay Down! 101 Charms to Tame Unruly Hair _- but he leans close and announces in his nasal whine, "Harry!"

I look up, my mouth feigning an "O" of astonishment, and I'm amused to find his eyes wide in shocked admiration. He helps himself to the empty seat across from me before I have the chance to protest, uttering the words I see written in his stare.

"Merlin, Harry, you've changed so much!"

I give him what Malfoy calls my Patented Potter Grin and, without missing a beat, exclaim, "Marcus! How long has it been?"

Marcus flashes a blindingly toothy smile (I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that his cleansing charm seems to be stripping the enamel off his teeth), and he drapes an arm casually over the arm of the chair as he relaxes. He actually _appraises _me before giving a surprised shake of his head.

"Too long, clearly. You look terrific - I've never seen you look this good."

Tell me I'm not supposed to swoon at this point.

"Thanks, Marcus. You seem, er, well."

Note, for the record, I don't tell him he looks good. Frankly, he never did, regardless of the bald-faced lies his mirror must have told him every morning.

Nonetheless, that's what he hears me saying, and he proceeds to embark on a long-winded account of his recent physical regimen. As my eyes begin to glaze over, his soliloquy fades in and out of my hearing until, eventually, his well of words seems to dry up. Only then does he turn the conversation to me, stealing a quick peek at my arse before inquiring, "So, Harry...you married yet?"

Ooo - should I get out my smelling-salts now, or wait until he's gone and discreetly faint in private? To think that he'd even consider asking sad little Harry Potter if he's married.

My smile remains frozen in place as I lean over the table to rest my chin on my hands, shyly glancing up at him through my eyelashes.

"No, Marcus, not married, not yet."

I've been told that my eyes are my best feature, and I use them to my advantage now to cast an appraising look of my own, licking my lips as I let my gaze drift slowly down his chest. He shifts in his chair and speaks again; I chalk a point for myself when he has to clear his throat first.

"Er...me either. Recent breakup and all..."

Imagine that, Marcus.

"I'm sorry to hear that. It must have been very painful for you..."

That look I remember so well - the pitying one - returns to his eyes as he explains.

"We just lost the spark, y'know? After a few years he just let himself go, and I knew I didn't want to stay in a passionless relationship. Know what I mean?"

Oh yeah, Marcus...I know exactly what you mean. I'm not sure you do though. I feel like looking up his ex and fixing him up with the second most eligible bachelor I know, just as a reward for surviving this prat.

"Sure, Marcus...passion. That's what it's all about, right?"

I see from the look in his eyes that he's decided we speak each other's unspoken language. Judging from the way his leering expression reappears on his face, I get the impression he's readying himself for the kill. A little panicked, my eyes wander past him and, fortuitously, are met by the stalwart form of my knight in shining armor. He sees me and I raise my eyebrows to telegraph the direness of my situation. Thankfully, he swoops in for the rescue.

"Harry, _darling_, there you are...I thought you were over in Military History."

Placing a hand on my back, he leans over and kisses me softly on the lips, his pink tongue brushing them lightly.

_whoa_

Reminding myself to thank whatever deity of fashion it was that inspired him to wear _that _form-fitting jumper and _those _arse-hugging trousers today, I look up at him, the full force of _my _appreciation dancing in my eyes.

"Draco...you remember Marcus, don't you? Hufflepuff?" Marcus, whose jaw currently is banging on the tile floor at the sight of this little display, weakly holds out his hand.

"Collins, isn't it?" Malfoy sneers as only he can.

He takes the proffered wet-fish into his own strong grasp and gives it a single, firm shake.

"Yes."

"Malfoy," I explain to a speechless Marcus, "is my fiance."

Both their eyes widen at my announcement.

I'll say this much for Marcus: he knows when the game is up. He stands up and offers Malfoy his seat, casting one last, lingering look at me and clapping Malfoy on the shoulder.

"I must be going," he says, before continuing with a cocky nod, "You've got yourself a prize there."

True to form, Malfoy manages a look that is proud, possessive, and patronizing, all at once. His eyes narrow slightly as he quietly replies, "He's a lot more than that, Collins."

_Oh_. Oh my...were those butterflies I just felt fluttering in my stomach?

Marcus turns to me.

"Good luck, Harry."

I smile brightly.

"Goodbye Marcus."

Don't let the door hit your arse on the way out.

Malfoy sits down in the chair opposite me, his grey eyes sparkling. He looks at me with love...he always looks at me with love.

He glances down at my hand, resting on the table, before covering it with his own. His eyes meet mine, swallowing before he speaks.

"Harry," he says cautiously, "does that mean 'yes'?"

I start to answer, but it turns out I have to swallow myself. My eyes fill and the little nod I give him shakes my tears free. They dance happily down my cheeks.

"Yes."

**FIN**


End file.
